It was a gallant, though, alas! but too small a force which, richly and
bravely accoutred, with banners proudly flying, music sounding, superb
chargers caparisoned for war, lances in rest, and spear and bill, sword
and battle-axe, marched through the olden gates of Scone in a
south-westward direction, early on the morning of the 25th of June,
1306. Many were the admiring eyes and yearning hearts which followed
them, and if doubt and dread did mingle in the fervid aspirations raised
for their welfare and success, they were not permitted to gain
ascendency so long as the cheering tones and happy smiles of every one
of that patriot band lingered on the ear and sight. As yet there were
but few of the nobles and knights with their men. The troops had been
commanded to march leisurely forward, under charge of the esquires and
gentlemen, who were mostly lieutenants or cornets to their leaders'
respective bands of followers; and, if not overtaken before, to halt in
a large meadow to the north of Perth, which lay in their way.
The knots of citizens, however, who had accompanied the army to the
farthest environs of the town, had not dispersed to their several homes
ere the quick, noisy clattering of a gallant troop of horse echoed along
the street, and the king, surrounded by his highest nobles and bravest
knights, galloped by, courteously returning the shouts and acclamations
of delight which hailed him on every side. His vizor was purposely left
up, and his noble countenance, beaming with animation and hope, seemed
to inspire fresh hope and confidence in all that gazed. A white ostrich
plume, secured to his helmet by a rich clasp of pearls and diamonds,
fell over his left shoulder till it well-nigh mingled with the flowing
mane of his charger, whose coal-black glossy hide was almost concealed
beneath the armor which enveloped him, and the saddle-cloth of crimson
velvet, whose golden fringe nearly swept the ground. King Robert was
clothed in the same superb suit of polished steel armor, inlaid and
curiously wrought with ingrained silver, in which we saw him at first; a
crimson scarf secured his trusty sword to his side, and a short mantle
of azure velvet, embroidered with the golden thistle of Scotland, and
lined with the richest sable, was secured at his throat by a splendid
collaret of gems. The costly materials of his dress, and, yet more, the
easy and graceful seat upon his charger, his chivalric bearing, and the
frank, noble expression of his countenance, made him, indeed, "look
every inch a king," and might well of themselves have inspired and
retained the devoted loyalty of his subjects, even had there been less
of chivalry in his daring rising.
Edward Bruce was close beside his brother. With a figure and appearance
equally martial and equally prepossessing, he wanted the quiet dignity,
the self-possession of voice and feature which characterized the king.
He had not the mind of Robert, and consequently the uppermost passion of
the spirit was ever the one marked on his brow. On this morning he was
all animated smiles, for war was alike his vocation and his pastime.
Thomas and Alexander Bruce were also there, both gallant men and
well-tried warriors, and eager as Edward for close encounter with the
foe. The Earls of Lennox and Athol, although perhaps in their secret
souls they felt that the enterprise was rash, gave no evidence of
reluctance in their noble bearing; indeed, had they been certain of
marching to their death, they would not have turned from the side of
Bruce. The broad banner of Scotland, whose ample folds waved in the
morning breeze, had been intrusted to the young heir of Buchan, who,
with the other young and new-made knights, eager and zealous to win
their spurs, had formed a body guard around the banner, swearing to
defend it to the last moment of their lives. Nigel Bruce was one of
these; he rode close beside his brother in arms, and midst that animated
group, those eager spirits throbbing for action, no heart beat quicker
than his own. All was animated life, anticipated victory; the very
heavens smiled as if they would shed no shadow on this patriot band.
It was scarcely two hours after noon when King Robert and his troops
arrived at the post assigned--the park or wood of Methven; and believing
that it was not till the succeeding day to which the challenge of
Pembroke referred, he commanded his men to make every preparation for a
night encampment. The English troops lay at about a quarter of a mile
distant, on the side of a hill, which, as well as tree and furze would
permit, commanded a view of the Bruce's movements. There were tents
erected, horses picketed, and every appearance of quiet, confirming the
Scotch in their idea of no engagement taking place till the morrow.
Aware of the great disparity of numbers, King Robert eagerly and
anxiously examined his ground as to the best spot for awaiting the
attack of the English. He fixed on a level green about half a mile
square, guarded on two sides by a thick wood of trees, on the third and
left by a deep running rivulet, and open on the fourth, encumbered only
by short, thick bushes and little knots of thorn, which the king
welcomed, as impeding the progress and obstructing the evolutions of
Pembroke's horse. The bushes which were scattered about on the ground he
had chosen, he desired his men to clear away, and ere the sun neared his
setting, all he wished was accomplished, and his plan of battle
arranged. He well remembered the impenetrable phalanx of the unfortunate
Wallace at the battle of Falkirk, and determined on exposing a steady
front of spears in the same manner. Not having above thirty horse on
whom he could depend, and well aware they would be but a handful against
Pembroke's two hundred, he placed them in the rear as a reserve, in the
centre of which waved the banner of Scotland. The remainder of his
troops he determined on arranging in a compact crescent, the bow exposed
to the English, the line stretching out against the wood. This was his
intended line of battle, but, either from mistake or purposed treachery
on the part of Pembroke, his plan was frustrated, and in addition to the
great disparity of numbers he had to struggle with surprise.
The day had been extremely sultry, and trusting in full confidence to
the honor of his opponent, and willing to give his men all needful rest,
the king dismissed them from their ranks to refreshment and repose,
leaving but very few to guard, himself retiring with his older officers
to a tent prepared for his reception.
Arm in arm, and deep in converse, Nigel Bruce and Alan of Buchan
wandered a little apart from their companions, preferring a hasty meal
and the calm beauty of a lovely summer evening, accompanied by a
refreshing breeze, to remaining beside the rude but welcome meal, and
sharing the festivity which enlivened it.
"Thinkest thou not, Nigel, his grace trusts but too fully to the honor
of these Englishmen?" asked Alan, somewhat abruptly, turning the
conversation from the dearer topics of Agnes and her mother, which had
before engrossed them.
"On my faith, if he judge of them by his own true, noble spirit, he
judges them too well."
"Nay, thou art over-suspicious, friend Alan," answered Nigel, smiling.
"What fearest thou?"
"I like not the absence of all guards, not so much for the safety of our
own camp, but to keep sharp watch on the movements of our friends
yonder. Nigel, there is some movement; they look not as they did an hour
ago."
"Impossible, quite impossible, Alan; the English knights are too
chivalric, too honorable, to advance on us to-night. If they have made a
movement, 'tis but to repose."
"Nigel, if Pembroke feel inclined to take advantage of our unguarded
situation, he will swear, as many have done before him, that a new day
began with the twelve-chime bell of this morning, and be upon us ere we
are aware; and I say again, there is movement, and warlike movement,
too, in yonder army. Are tents deserted, and horses and men collected,
for the simple purpose of retiring to rest? Come with me to yon mound,
and see if I be not correct in my surmise."
Startled by Alan's earnest manner, despite his firm reliance on
Pembroke's honor, Nigel made no further objection, but hastened with him
to the eminence he named. It was only too true. Silently and guardedly
the whole English army, extending much further towards Perth than was
visible to the Scotch, had been formed in battle array, line after line
stretching forth its glittering files, in too compact and animated array
to admit of a doubt as to their intentions. The sun had completely sunk,
and dim mists were spreading up higher and higher from the horizon,
greatly aiding the treacherous movements of the English.
"By heavens, 'tis but too true!" burst impetuously from Nigel's lips,
indignation expressed in every feature. "Base, treacherous cowards! Hie
thee to the king--fly for thy life--give him warning, while I endeavor
to form the lines. In vain, utterly in vain!" he muttered, as Alan with
the speed of lightning darted down the slope. "They are formed--fresh,
both man and horse--double, aye, more than treble our numbers; they will
be upon us ere the order of battle can be formed, and defeat _now_--"
He would not give utterance to the dispiriting truth which closed that
thought, but springing forward, dashed through fern and brake, and
halted not till he stood in the centre of his companions, who, scattered
in various attitudes on the grass, were giving vent, in snatches of song
and joyous laughter, to the glee which filled their souls.
"Up! up!--the foe!" shouted Nigel, in tones so unlike the silvery
accents which in general characterized him, that his companions
started to their feet and grasped their swords, as roused by the
sound of trumpet, "Pembroke is false: to arms--to your posts!
Fitz-Alan--Douglas--sound an alarm, and, in heaven's name, aid me in
getting the men under arms! Be calm, be steady; display no alarm, no
confusion, and all may yet be well."
He was obeyed. The quick roll of the drum, the sharp, quick blast of the
trumpet echoed and re-echoed at different sides of the encampment; the
call to arms, in various stentorian tones, rung through the woodland
glades, quickly banishing all other sounds. Every man sprung at once
from his posture of repose, and gathered round their respective leaders;
startled, confused, yet still in order, still animated, still confident,
and yet more exasperated against their foe.
The appearance of their sovereign, unchanged in his composed and warlike
mien, evincing perhaps yet more animation in his darkly flushing cheek,
compressed lip, and sparkling eye; his voice still calm, though his
commands were more than usually hurried; his appearance on every side,
forming, arranging, encouraging, almost at the same instant--at one
moment exciting their indignation against the treachery of the foe, at
others appealing to their love for their country, their homes, their
wives, to their sworn loyalty to himself--inspired courage and
confidence at the same instant as he allayed confusion; but despite
every effort both of leader and men, it needed time to form in the
compact order which the king had planned, and ere it was accomplished,
nearer and nearer came the English, increasing their pace to a run as
they approached, and finally charging in full and overwhelming career
against the unprepared but gallant Scots. Still there was no wavering
amid the Scottish troops; still they stood their ground, and forming,
almost as they fought, in closer and firmer order, exposing the might
and unflinching steadiness of desperate men, determined on liberty or
death, to the greater number and better discipline of their foe. It
mattered not that the fading light of day had given place to the darker
shades of night, but dimly illumined by the rising moon--they struggled
on, knowing as if by instinct friend from foe. And fearful was it to
watch the mighty struggles from figures gleaming as gigantic shadows in
the darkness; now and then came a deep smothered cry or bursting groan,
wrung from the throes of death, or the wild, piercing scream from a
slaughtered horse, but the tongues of life were silent; the clang of
armor, the clash of steel, the heavy fall of man and horse, indeed came
fitfully and fearfully on the night breeze, and even as the blue
spectral flash of summer lightning did the bright swords rise and fall
in the thick gloom.
"Back, back, dishonored knight! back, recreant traitor!" shouted James
of Douglas; and his voice was heard above the roar of battle, and those
near him saw him at the same instant spring from his charger, thrust
back Pembroke and other knights who were thronging round him, and with
unrivalled skill and swiftness aid a tall and well-known form to rise
and spring on the horse he held for him. "Thinkest thou the sacred
person of the King of Scotland is for such as thee? back, I say!" And he
did force him, armed and on horseback as he was, many paces back, and
Robert Bruce again galloped over the field, bareheaded indeed, for his
helmet had fallen off in the strife, urging, inciting, leading on yet
again to the charge. And it was in truth as if a superhuman strength and
presence had been granted the patriot king that night, for there were
veteran warriors there, alike English and Scotch, who paused even in the
work of strife to gaze and tremble.
Again was he unhorsed, crushed by numbers--one moment more and he had
fallen into the hands of his foes, and Scotland had lain a slave forever
at the feet of England; but again was relief at hand, and the young Earl
of Mar, dashing his horse between the prostrate monarch and his
thronging enemies, laid the foremost, who was his own countryman, dead
on the field, and remained fighting alone; his single arm dealing deadly
blows on every side at the same moment until Robert had regained his
feet, and, though wounded and well-nigh exhausted, turned in fury to the
rescue of his preserver. It was too late; in an agony of spirit no pen
can describe, he beheld his faithful and gallant nephew overpowered by
numbers and led off a captive, and he stood by, fighting indeed like a
lion, dealing death wherever his sword fell, but utterly unable to
rescue or defend him. Again his men thronged round him, their rallying
point, their inspiring hope, their guardian spirit; again he was on
horseback, and still, still that fearful strife continued. Aided by the
darkness, the Bruce in his secret soul yet encouraged one gleam of hope,
yet dreamed of partial success, at least of avoiding that almost worse
than death, a total and irremediable defeat. Alas, had the daylight
suddenly illumined that scene, he would have felt, have seen that hope
was void.
Gallantly, meanwhile, gallantly even as a warrior of a hundred fields,
had the young heir of Buchan redeemed his pledge to his sovereign, and
devoted sword and exposed life in his cause. The standard of Scotland
had never touched the ground. Planting it firmly in the earth, he had
for a while defended it nobly where he stood, curbing alike the high
spirit of his prancing horse and his own intense longing to dash forward
in the thickest of the fight. He saw his companions fall one by one,
till he was well-nigh left alone. He heard confused cries, as of
triumph; he beheld above twenty Englishmen dashing towards him, and he
felt a few brief minutes and his precious charge might be waved in scorn
as a trophy by the victors; the tide of battle had left him for an
instant comparatively alone, and in that instant his plan was formed.
"Strike hard, and fear not!" he cried to an old retainer, who stirred
not from his side; "divide this heavy staff, and I will yet protect my
charge, and thou and I, Donald, will to King Robert's side; he needs all
true men about him now."
Even as he spoke his command was understood and obeyed. One sweep of the
stout Highlander's battle-axe severed full four feet of the heavy lance
to which the standard was attached and enabled Alan without any
inconvenience to grasp in his left hand the remainder, from which the
folds still waved: grasping his sword firmly in his right, and giving
his horse the rein, shouting, "Comyn, to the rescue!" he darted towards
the side where the strife waxed hottest.
It was a cry which alike startled friends and foes, for that name was
known to one party as so connected with devotee adherence to Edward, to
the other so synonymous with treachery, that united as it was with "to
the rescue," some there were who paused to see whence and from whom it
came. The banner of Scotland quickly banished doubt as to which part;
that youthful warrior belonged; knights and yeomen alike threw
themselves in his path to obtain possession of so dear a prize. Followed
by about ten stalwart men of his clan, the young knight gallantly cut
his way through the greater number of his opponents, but a sudden gleam
on the helmet of one of them caused him to halt suddenly.
"Ha! Sir Henry Seymour, we have met at length!" he shouted. "Thou
bearest yet my gage--'tis well. I am here to redeem it."
"Give up that banner to a follower, then," returned Sir Henry,
courteously, checking his horse in its full career, "for otherwise we
meet at odds. Thou canst not redeem thy gage, and defend thy charge at
the same moment."
"Give up my charge! Never, so help me heaven! Friend or foe shall claim
it but with my life," returned Alan, proudly. "Come on, sir knight; I am
here to defend the honor thou hast injured--the honor of one dearer than
my own."
"Have then thy will, proud boy: thy blood be on thine own head," replied
Seymour; but ere he spurred on to the charge, he called aloud, "let none
come between us, none dare to interfere--'tis a quarrel touching none
save ourselves," and Alan bowed his head, in courteous recognition of
the strict observance of the rules of chivalry in his adversary, at the
very moment that he closed with him in deadly strife; and such was war
in the age of chivalry, and so strict were its rules, that even with the
standard of Scotland in his hand, the person of the heir of Buchan was
sacred to all save to his particular opponent.
It was a brief yet determined struggle. Their swords crossed and
recrossed with such force and rapidity, that sparks of fire flashed from
the blades; the aim of both appeared rather to unhorse and disarm than
slay: Seymour, perhaps, from admiration of the boy's extraordinary
bravery and daring, and Alan from a feeling of respect for the true
chivalry of the English knight. The rush of battle for a minute
unavoidably separated them. About four feet of the banner-staff yet
remained uninjured, both in its stout wood and sharp iron head; with
unparalleled swiftness, Alan partly furled the banner round the pike,
and transferred it to his right hand, then grasping it firmly, and
aiming full at Sir Henry's helm, backed his horse several paces to allow
of a wider field, gave his steed the spur, and dashed forward quick as
the wind. The manoeuvre succeeded. Completely unprepared for this
change alike in weapon and attack, still dazzled and slightly confused
by the rush which had divided them, Sir Henry scarcely saw the youthful
knight, till he felt his helmet transfixed by the lance, and the blow
guided so well and true, that irresistibly it bore him from his horse,
and he lay stunned and helpless, but not otherwise hurt, at the mercy of
his foe. Recovering his weapon, Alan, aware that the great disparity of
numbers rendered the securing English prisoners but a mere waste of
time, contented himself by waving the standard high in air, and again
shouting his war-cry, galloped impetuously on. Wounded he was, but he
knew it not; the excitement, the inspiration of the moment was all he
felt.
"To the king--to the king!" shouted Nigel Bruce, urging his horse to the
side of Alan, and ably aiding him to strike down their rapidly
increasing foes. "Hemmed in on all sides, he will fall beneath their
thirsting swords. To the king--to the king! Yield he never will; and
better he should not. On, on, for the love of life, of liberty, of
Scotland!--on to the king!"
His impassioned words reached even hearts fainting 'neath exhaustion,
failing in hope, for they knew they strove in vain; yet did that tone,
those words rouse even them, and their flagging limbs grew strong for
Robert's sake, and some yet reached the spot to fight and die around
him; others--alas! the greater number--fell ere the envied goal was
gained.
The sight of the royal standard drew, as Alan had hoped, the attention
of some from the king, and gave him a few moments to rally. Again there
was a moment of diversion in favor of the Scotch. The brothers of the
Bruce and some others of his bravest knights were yet around him,
seemingly uninjured, and each and all appeared endowed with the strength
of two. The gigantic form of Edward Bruce, the whelming sweep of his
enormous battle-axe, had cleared a partial space around the king, but
still the foes hemmed in, reinforced even as they fell. About this time
the moon, riding high in the heavens, had banished the mists which had
enveloped her rising, and flung down a clear, silvery radiance over the
whole field, disclosing for the first time to King Robert the exact
situation in which he stood. Any further struggle, and defeat,
imprisonment, death, all stared him in the face, and Scotland's liberty
was lost, and forever. The agony of this conviction was known to none
save to the sovereign's own heart, and to that Searcher of all, by whom
its every throb was felt.
The wood behind him was still plunged in deep shadows, and he knew the
Grampian Hills, with all their inaccessible paths and mountain
fastnesses--known only to the true children of Scotland--could easily be
reached, were the pursuit of the English eluded, which he believed could
be easily accomplished, were they once enabled to retreat into the wood.
The consummate skill and prudence of the Bruce characterizing him as a
general, even as his extraordinary daring and exhaustless courage marked
the warrior, enabled him to effect this precarious and delicate
movement, in the very sight of and almost surrounded by foes. Covering
his troops, or rather the scattered remnant of troops, by exposing his
own person to the enemy, the king was still the first object of attack,
the desire of securing his person, or, at least, obtaining possession of
his head, becoming more and more intense. But it seemed as though a
protecting angel hovered round him: for he had been seen in every part
of the field; wherever the struggle had been fiercest, he had been the
centre; twice he had been unhorsed, and bareheaded almost from the
commencement of the strife, yet there he was still, seemingly as firm in
his saddle, as strong in frame, as unscathed in limb, as determined in
purpose, as when he sent back his acceptance of Pembroke's challenge.
Douglas, Fitz-Alan, Alexander and Nigel Bruce, and Alan of Buchan, still
bearing the standard, were close around the king, and it was in this
time of precaution, of less inspiriting service, that the young Alan
became conscious that he was either severely wounded, or that the
strength he had taxed far beyond its natural powers was beginning to
fail. Still mechanically he grasped the precious banner, and still he
crossed his sword with every foe that came; but the quick eye of Nigel
discerned there was a flagging of strength, and he kept close beside him
to aid and defend. The desired goal was just attained, the foes were
decreasing in numbers, for they were scattered some distance from each
other, determined on scouring the woods in search of fugitives, the
horses of the king and his immediate followers were urged to quicken
their pace, when an iron-headed quarrel, discharged from an arbalist,
struck the royal charger, which, with a shrill cry of death, dropped
instantly, and again was the king unhorsed. The delay occasioned in
extricating him from the fallen animal was dangerous in the extreme; the
greater part of his men were at some distance, for the king had ordered
them, as soon as the unfrequented hollows of the wood were reached, to
disperse, the better to elude their pursuers. Douglas, Alexander Bruce,
and Fitz-Alan had galloped on, unconscious of the accident, and Nigel
and Alan were alone near him. A minute sufficed for the latter to spring
from his horse and aid the king to mount, and both entreated, conjured
him to follow their companions, and leave them to cover his retreat. A
while he refused, declaring he would abide with them: he would not so
cowardly desert them.
"Leave you to death!" he cried; "my friends, my children; no, no! Urge
me no more. If I may not save my country, I may _die_ for her."
"Thou shalt not, so help me heaven!" answered Nigel, impetuously. "King,
friend, brother, there is yet time. Hence, I do beseech thee, hence.
Nay, an thou wilt not, I will e'en forget thou art my king, and force
thee from this spot."
He snatched the reins of his brother's horse, and urging it with his own
to their fullest speed, took the most unfrequented path, and dashing
over every obstacle, through brake and briar, and over hedge and ditch,
placed him in comparative safety.
And was Alan deserted? Did his brother in arms, in his anxiety to save
the precious person of his royal brother, forget the tie that bound
them, and leave him to die alone? A sickening sense of inability, of
utter exhaustion, crept over the boy's sinking frame, inability even to
drag his limbs towards the wood and conceal himself from his foes.
Mechanically he at first stood grasping the now-tattered colors, as if
his hand were nailed unto the staff, his foot rooted to the ground.
There were many mingled cries, sending their shrill echoes on the night
breeze; there were chargers scouring the plain; bodies of men passing
and repassing within twenty yards of the spot where he stood, yet half
hidden by the deep shadow of a large tree, for some minutes he was
unobserved. An armed knight, with about twenty followers, were rushing
by; they stopped, they recognized the banner; they saw the bowed and
drooping figure who supported it, they dashed towards him. With a strong
effort Alan roused himself from that lethargy of faintness. Nearer and
nearer they came.
"Yield, or you die!" were the words borne to his ear, shrill, loud,
fraught with death, and his spirit sprang up with the sound. He waved
his sword above his head, and threw himself into a posture of defence;
but ere they reached him, there was a sudden and rapid tramp of horse,
and the voice of Nigel Bruce shouted--
"Mount, mount! God in heaven be thanked, I am here in time!"
Alan sprung into the saddle; he thought not to inquire how that charger
had been found, nor knew he till some weeks after that Nigel had exposed
his own person to imminent danger, to secure one of the many steeds
flying masterless over the plain. On, on they went, and frequently the
head of Alan drooped from very faintness to his saddle-bow, and Nigel
feared to see him fall exhausted to the earth, but still they pursued
their headlong way. Death was behind them, and the lives of all true and
loyal Scotsmen were too precious to admit a pause.
The sun had risen when King Robert gazed round him on the remnant of his
troops. It was a wild brake, amid surrounding rocks and mountains where
they stood; a torrent threw itself headlong from a craggy steep, and
made its way to the glen, tumbling and roaring and dashing over the
black stones that opposed its way. The dark pine, the stunted fir, the
weeping birch, and many another mountain tree, marked the natural
fertility of the soil, although its aspect seemed wild and rude. It was
to this spot the king had desired the fugitives to direct their several
ways, and now he gazed upon all, all that were spared to him and
Scotland from that disastrous night. In scattered groups they stood or
sate; their swords fallen from their hands, their heads drooping on
their breasts, with the mien of men whose last hope had been cast on a
single die, and wrecked forever. And when King Robert thought of the
faithful men who, when the sun had set the previous evening, had
gathered round him in such devoted patriotism, such faithful love, and
now beheld the few there were to meet his glance, to give him the
sympathy, the hope he needed, scarcely could he summon energy sufficient
to speak against hope, to rally the failing spirits of his remaining
followers. Mar, Athol, Hay, Fraser, he knew were prisoners, and he knew,
too, that in their cases that word was but synonymous with death.
Lennox, his chosen friend, individually the dearest of all his
followers, he too was not there, though none remembered his being taken;
Randolph, his nephew, and about half of those gallant youths who not ten
days previous had received and welcomed the honor of knighthood, in all
the high hopes and buoyancy of youth and healthful life; more, many more
than half the number of the stout yeomen, who had risen at his call to
rescue their land from chains--where now were these? Was it wonder that
the king had sunk upon a stone, and bent his head upon his hands? But
speedily he rallied; he addressed each man by name; he spoke comfort,
hope, not lessening the magnitude of his defeat, but still promising
them liberty--still promising that yet would their homes be redeemed,
their country free; aye, even were he compelled to wander months, nay,
years in those mountain paths, with naught about him but the title of a
king; still, while he had life, would he struggle on for Scotland; still
did he feel, despite of blighted hope, of bitter disappointment, that to
him was intrusted the sacred task of her deliverance. Would he, might he
sink and relax in his efforts and resign his purpose, because his first
engagement was attended by defeat? had he done so, it was easy to have
found death on the field. Had he listened to the voice of despair, he
confessed, he would not have left that field alive.
"But I lived for my country, for ye, her children," he continued, his
voice becoming impassioned in its fervor; "lived to redeem this night,
to suffer on a while, to be your savior still. Will ye then desert me?
will ye despond, because of one defeat--yield to despair, when Scotland
yet calls aloud? No, no, it cannot be!" and roused by his earnest, his
eloquent appeal, that devoted band sprung from their drooping posture,
and kneeling at his feet, renewed their oaths of allegiance to him; the
oath that bound them to seek liberty for Scotland. It was then, as one
by one advanced, the king for the first time missed his brother Nigel
and the heir of Buchan; amidst the overwhelming bitterness of thought
which had engrossed him, he had for a brief while forgotten the
precarious situation of Alan, and the determination of Nigel to seek and
save, or die with him; but now the recollection of both rushed upon him,
and the flush which his eloquence had summoned faded at once, and the
sudden expression of anguish passing over his features roused the
attention of all who stood near him.
"They must have fallen," he murmured, and for the first time, in a
changed and hollow voice. "My brother, my brother, dearest, best! can it
be that, in thy young beauty, thou, too, art taken from me?--and Alan,
how can I tell his mother--how face her sorrow for her son?"
Time passed, and there was no sound; the visible anxiety of the king
hushed into yet deeper stillness the voices hushed before. His meaning
was speedily gathered from his broken words, and many mounted the craggy
heights to mark if there might not yet be some signs of the missing
ones. Time seemed to linger on his flight. The intervening rocks and
bushes confined all sounds within a very narrow space; but at length a
faint unintelligible noise broke on the stillness, it came nearer,
nearer still, a moment more and the tread of horses' hoofs echoed
amongst the rocks--a shout, a joyful shout proclaimed them friends. The
king sprung to his feet. Another minute Nigel and Alan pressed around
him; with the banner still in his hand, Alan knelt and laid it at his
sovereign's feet.
"From thy hand I received it, to thee I restore it," he said, but his
voice was scarcely articulate; he bowed his head to press Robert's
extended hand to his lips, and sunk senseless at his feet.